District 11: Two tributes made
by Thepolymathwriter
Summary: "Reason or not, it was my name that sounded over the silenced crowd. Reason or not, life had rolled forward and apparently had decided it was my time to fall off the ladder." A quick oneshot giving insight into the backgrounds of Rue and Thresh.


**OOC: A nice little one-shot describing what I thought to be going through the district 11 tributes' heads during the reaping. I've always been fascinated by the character behind Rue and Thresh, and I wanted to explore it. So enjoy my loves! If I find the inspiration I may do something similar to this for other districts as well. Maybe. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think!**

My mama always told me that things happened for a reason. The planting season didn't last forever because even trees need time to rest. We worked long endless days because the prize of fruit was that great. Trees gave us that fruit because we worked so hard for it. That's how life was, she always told me. The seasons turned because they were meant to. Children were born because the world needed another bright spark of life. It was all a chain of causes and reactions. No one event was random or entropic. No, everything happened for a reason. Everything that happened, well something made that happen and something provided the means for that to happen. That was mama's philosophy. Life was a cycle. I'd like to say that it was my philosophy too. I'd like to say that there's a reason behind everything that occurs in life. That no matter how bad some occurrence is, that deep down there's an explanation as to why it happened. If a man falls off a picking ladder, well it was because he was careless with his footing. He stepped wrong, and as consequence he had a broken back. It didn't matter how random the event seemed, there was an underlying reason. If the apples don't bloom on schedule, well it was because they weren't watered properly. Life has its reasons, and my mama had raised me on that philosophy. I'd fully believed it for my entire 12 years of life. I had so many brothers and sisters because my parents knew that the more people there were to work the fields, the less each person would have to work. They never admitted this was the reason to having so many kids, but I'd overheard them talking bout it one day. The point was though, regardless of what the reason was there still was a reason. But on that starkly hot, blistering day in the sun my perspective changed. On that day when I stood amidst a crowd of hundreds of my peers. On that day when for the first time in three months work for the day had been cancelled. It was on that day that I first realized maybe there is a sense of randomness in the world. Some things can't have a reason behind them. They just can't. Life just can't be fair all of the time. Because what reason was there behind the two sharp words that sounded from the Capitol man's mouth? What reason was there behind out of thousands and thousands of entries the one tiny slip of paper they would choose and read would be mine? Reason or not, it was my name that sounded over the silenced crowd. Reason or not, life had rolled forward and apparently had decided it was my time to fall off the ladder.

When I was little I'd always dream of the Games. Between shifts in the orchard, late at night in the dark corner of my family's sitting room of our tiny little house, I'd watch and rewatch tapes of them. It was a strange fascination of mine. I couldn't explain the rush of adrenaline I felt watching all of those horrible things occur. With every swing of a sword, shot of an arrow and death of a tribute I felt a rush of energy. I do not feel ashamed of it though, it's who I am. I know deep in my soul that I was born a fighter, not a lover. I'm proud of it in fact. I knew that one day if I ever had to face the games that I'd be ready. It was a fantasy I had built up though. In those days of my childhood I wouldn't have stood a chance against a starving district twelve tribute, let alone a sword-wielding career. I'm not sure if I was fully aware of that fact though; to my younger self I was all but immortal. Still though, I watched the tapes. My grandmother would always come home from selling her weaving at the market and see me poised over the tiny view screen I'd stolen, eagerly soaking up the games of years past. Whenever she caught me at this she'd always ask what it was I was doing. I would explain simply, struggling for words to justify my actions. Words never really came easy to me. I'd always struggled in class with that and people have always pointed it out. I firmly believed that actions speak much greater means than any words could. So when my gram would point her wizened finger at me and ask why I was watching old games, I'd never have a comprehensible answer. Gram would then ask me to turn around and lift my standard issued gray cotton shirt. It was then that I'd get a firm whipping, from the worn weathered leather belt Gram kept on the hook by the door. Each lash stung, but brought with it the slightest feeling of satisfaction. I'm not entirely sure why I continued to watch the games and be beaten after the first beating. Maybe it's because I couldn't resist the thrill of the games. Maybe deep down I realized what the beatings were doing to me. They were making me tough, and hardened. And deep down, I liked that. Despite the multitudes of tesserae I took out, my name was never drawn in the first five years I was eligible. Outwardly I was as relieved as anyone else, yet within I felt a pang of regret. I knew deep down that I'd always wondered what I'd be like in the games. On that blistering hot day, watching the little girl's name be called I wanted nothing more than to return to the fields and forget the games entirely, seeing as this was my last reaping. My last chance at living the 'what if'. I figured that I would never know what the games were like. That changed though, as the name was called. My name.


End file.
